WHEN I AWAKE I AM STILL WITH THEE.

Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,

When the bird waketh and the shadows flee ; Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight, Dawns the sweet consciousness,-I am with Thee!

Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows,
The solemn hush of nature newly born n;
Alone with Thee in breathless adoration,
In the calm dew and freshness of the morn!

As in the dawning o'er the waveless ocean,
The image of the morning star doth rest,
So in this stillness Thou beholdest only

Thine image in the waters of my breast.

Still, still with Thee! as to each new-born morning

A fresh and solemn splendor still is given, So doth this blessed consciousness, awaking, Breathe, each day, nearness unto Thee and heaven.

When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber, Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer; Sweet the repose beneath Thy wings o'ershading, But sweeter still, to wake and find Thee there.

So shall it be at last, in that bright morning

When the soul waketh, and life's shadows flee; Oh, in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning, Shall rise the glorious thought,-I am with Thee!

William Henry Burleigh.

1812-1871.

THE SONG OF THE MOWERS.

We are up

and away, ere the sunrise hath kissed, In the valley below us, that ocean of mist; Ere the tops of the hills have grown bright in its

ray,

With our scythes on our shoulders, we 're up and away!

The freshness and beauty of morning are ours, The music of birds, and the fragrance of flowers; And our trail is the first that is seen in the dew, As our pathway through orchards and lanes we pursue. *

*

*

*

*

Hurrah! here we are! now together, as one, Give your scythes to the sward, and press stead

ily on ;

All together, as one, o'er the stubble we pass, With a swing and a ring of the steel through the

grass.

Before us the clover stands thickly and tall,
At our left it is piled in a verdurous wall;

And never breathed monarch more fragrant perfumes

Than the sunshine distills from its leaves and its blooms.

Invisible censers around us are swung,

And anthems exultant from tree-tops are flung ; And 'mid fragrance and music and beauty we share

The jubilant life of the earth and the air.

The ceaseless hum of men, the dusty streets,
Crowded with multitudinous life ; the di
Of toil and traffic, and the woe and sin,
The dweller in the populous city meets :
These have I left to seek the cool retreats
Of the untrodden forest, where, in bowers
Builded by Nature's hand, inlaid with flowers,
And roofed with ivy, on the mossy seats
Reclining, I can while away the hours
In sweetest converse with old books, or give
My thoughts to God; or fancies fugitive
Indulge, while over me their radiant showers
Of rarest blossoms the old trees shake down,
And thanks to Him my meditations crown!

William Goldsmith Brown.

1812.

A HUNDRED YEARS TO COME.

Oh, where will be the birds that sing,
A hundred years to come?

The flowers that now in beauty spring,
A hundred years to come?

The rosy lip, the lofty brow,

The heart that beats so gayly now,
Oh, where will be love's beaming eye,
Joy's pleasant smile, and sorrow's sigh,
A hundred years to come?

Who 'll press for gold this crowded street, A hundred years to come?

Who 'll tread yon church with willing feet,
A hundred years to come?

Pale, trembling age, and fiery youth,
And childhood with its brow of truth;
The rich and poor, on land and sea,
Where will the mighty millions be
A hundred years to come?

We all within our graves shall sleep
A hundred years to come!
No living soul for us will weep
A hundred years to come!
But other men our lands shall till,

And others then our streets will fill,
While other birds will sing as gay,
As bright the sunshine as to-day
A hundred years to come.

Jones Very.

1813-1880.

NATURE.

The bubbling brook doth leap when I come by, Because my feet find measure with its call,

The birds know when the friend they love is nigh,

For I am known to them both great and

small;

The flowers that on the lonely hillside grow

Expect me there when Spring their bloom has

given ;

And many a tree and bush my wanderings

know,

And e'en the clouds and silent stars of heaven ; For he who with his Maker walks aright,

Shall be their lord, as Adam was before;

His ear shall catch each sound with new delight,
Each object wear the dress that then it wore ;
And he, as when erect in soul he stood,
Hear from his Father's lips that all is good.