LOVE.

I've looked upon the Euxine's azure plain,
Spelled by its beauty, when our ship was still,
And watched the sunbeams with a golden thrill
Break on the waters-and the anchor chain

E'en to the glittering floor, down, down beneath,
Long have I traced-and thought that love should be
Like unto that-firm 'mid the storm's rude breath,
And holding even to Eternity!

THE MOWERS.

SINCE the first opening of the day
The mowers have been in the fields

;

I saw them with their brown arms bare
For the first blow

prepare.

As warrior men go to the sudden fray,
I see them now as each man wields
His scythe; it flashes through the air,
Moving as if to some old solemn tune,
And the dead grass in heaps around is strewn.

They woke me with their voices loud,
I heard them 'neath my window pass;
And then, like bells that softly ring,
I heard the sharpening

Of their long scythes. Now standing near

They are half hidden in the long grass,

Still toiling; but the calm, cool eve will bring
Rest and reward, and in the soft red glow
Of sunset they will slowly homeward go.
From the first opening of the morn,
Through the thick broadened heat of noon,
Brave labourers! toiling without cease
Until their fixed release.

Oh! workers in these life-fields worn
And weary, evening cometh soon-
The evening-tide, that brings thee peace,
Rest, and reward, and in the soft red glow
Of sunset thou wilt slowly homeward go!

A QUESTION.

FOR S. E. K.

TELL me which would'st thou rather?

That much wealth were thine,

Giving thee power to do and be,

Opening to thy glad eyes the deep-down mine

Of learning closed to thee

A wealth of money, and a wealth of time,

To spend in paths where thou would'st love to tread— Not dooming thee to waste thy prime

In one long fight for bread;

And, more than all, that thy right hand might move
To thy heart's teaching-whisperings of love
Towards thy fellow men-that thou might'st show
And prove thy burning longing to uplift the low?

Or would'st thou rather be e'en as thou art,
Holding as best the least thy Maker sends,
Yet rounded by a chain of love-filled friends,
Each link a beating heart?

I think that I would have thee e'en as now;
I fear these changes-pride, the hope of fame,
Might crust thy heart, might cloud thy open brow,
And thou might'st think with shame

Of poorer times. I'd rather have thee hold
Thy present course-a wealth of truth thou hast,
And thy example showeth through the past
Brighter than brightest gold!

TWENTY SUMMERS!

TWENTY Summers in her eyes,

The gathered light of twenty summers-
Not one cloud of wintry skies

To shade the light of twenty summers.
Looking into those dear orbs-

"Tis this thought that in its beauty
All absorbs.

'Tis this thought that makes me love her:
Twenty summers!

C

Twenty summers in her face,

The treasured bloom of twenty summers!
Not one wintry finger trace

To pale the bloom of twenty summers.
When her lips to mine are prest,
All the wealth of those long ages
Lies confest.

'Tis this thought that makes me love her :
Twenty summers!

Twenty summers in her heart,

The gathered warmth of twenty summers!
Not one wintry breath to start
The folded leaves of twenty summers!
Listening to its soft, slow move,

So slow as if too deeply laden

With its love.

'Tis this thought that makes me love her :
Twenty summers!

THE RAIN.

THE rain has come unto the thirsting meads;

They have been standing with arms opened wide To catch the glittering beads,

And they are satisfied.

To-morrow's sun will see them fresh and bright,
Fresh with the odours of the heaven-sent rain,
And through the day and night

They will not droop again.

The rain has come unto my thirsting soul,
My heart was set to catch the lifeful tide,

As it had been a bowl,

And I am satisfied.

To-morrow and to-morrow ever bright,

Fresh with the odour of the heaven-sent rain.

And in the coming night

It shall not droop again.

A SERMON.

HAST thou ne'er thought what a strange world is ours?
So thoughtful and thoughtless,

So much of gain thinking,
That all would seem sinking

If men sold and bought less.

Hast thou ne'er thought what a strange world is ours?
Where all things have prices,

Priests, women, and places,
Disgraces and graces,

Great virtues and vices.