Listen! that eloquent whisper, upspring-| From the fine acorn the strong forest bloweth ; Temple and statue the marble block hides. Droop not, though shame, sin, and anguish are round thee; Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee! Look to yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee: Rest not content in thy darkness, а clod! Work for some good, be it ever SO slowly; Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly: JONES VERY. [U. S. A.] THE PRESENT HEAVEN. FATHER! thy wonders do not singly stand, Nor far removed where feet have selAround us ever lies the enchanted land, dom strayed; In marvels rich to thine own sons displayed. In finding thee are all things round us found; In losing thee are all things lost beside; Ears have we, but in vain sweet voices sound, And to our eyes the vision is denied. Open our eyes, that we that world may see! Open our ears, that we thy voice may hear, And in the spirit-land may ever be, near. TO THE PAINTED COLUMBINE. BRIGHT image of the early years When glowed my cheek as red as thou, I see the hill's far-gazing head, Where gay thou noddest in the gale; I hear light-bounding footsteps tread The grassy path that winds along the vale. I hear the voice of woodland song Break from each bush and wellknown tree, And, on light pinions borne along, Comes back the laugh from childhood's heart of glee. O'er the dark rock the dashing brook, With look of anger, leaps again, And, hastening to each flowery nook, Its distant voice is heard far down the glen. Fair child of art! thy charms decay, Touched by the withered hand Time; of And hushed the music of that day, When my voice mingled with the streamlet's chime: JOHN KEBLE. [1796-1821.] MORNING. There shalt thou live and wake the O, TIMELY happy, timely wise, glee That echoed on thy native hill; And when, loved flower! I think of thee, My infant feet will seem to seek thee still. Hearts that with rising morn arise! Eyes that the beam celestial view, Which evermore makes all things new! New every morning is the love Our wakening and uprising prove Fast silent tears were flowing, THE MEN OF OLD. I KNOW not that the men of old Of heart more kind, of hand more bold, I heed not those who pine for force As if they thus could check the course Still is it true and over-true, |