But on a day of wintry skies A withered rose slipped from my book; And as I caught its faint perfume The soul of summer straight forsook The little tenement it loved, And filled the world with song and bloom, Missed, in their season, by my sense, So found my heart its recompense. SIR ROBERT AYTON. FAIR AND UNWORTHY. I DO confess thou'rt smooth and fair, And I might have gone near to love thee, Had I not found the lightest prayer That lips could speak, had power to move thee: But I can let thee now alone, I do confess thou'rt sweet; yet find one, Thou'rt worthy to be kissed by none. The morning rose that untouched stands Armed with her briers, how sweetly smells! But plucked and strained through ruder hands, No more her sweetness with her dwells, But scent and beauty both are gone, And leaves fall from her one by one. Such fate, erelong, will thee betide, When thou hast handled been awhile, Like sere flowers to be thrown aside; And I will sigh, while some will smile, To see thy love for more than one Hath brought thee to be loved by none. Ere History was born, the poet sung How godlike Thone knew thy compelling power, And ancient Ceres, by strange sor rows wrung, Sought sweet oblivion from thy Giver of sleep! Lord of the Land of O simple weed, thou art not what The clear-eyed Greeks saw oft their god of sleep Wandering about through the black midnight hours, Soothing the restless couch with slumbers deep, And scattering thy medicated flow. ers, Till hands were folded for their final rest, PARK BENJAMIN. PRESS ON. PRESS on! there's no such word as fail! Press nobly on! the goal is near,Ascend the mountain! breast the gale! Look upward, onward, fear! never Why shouldst thou faint? Heaven smiles above, Though storm and vapor intervene; That sun shines on, whose name is Love, Serenely o'er Life's shadow'd scene. Press on! surmount the rocky steeps, Climb boldly o'er the torrent's arch; He fails alone who feebly creeps; He wins, who dares the hero's march. Clasping white poppies o'er a pulse- Be thou a hero! let thy might less breast. We have a clearer vision; every hour Kind hearts and hands the poppy juices mete, And panting sufferers bless its kindly power, And weary ones invoke its peaceful sleep. Health has its rose, and grape and joyful palm, The poppy to the sick is wine and balm. I sing the poppy! The frail snowy weed! The flower of mercy! that within its heart Doth keep a drop serene" for human need, A drowsy balm for every bitter smart. For happy hours the rose will idly blow and woe. Tramp on eternal snows its way, And through the ebon walls of night Hew down a passage unto day. Press on! if Fortune play thee false To-day, to-morrow she'll be true; Whom now she sinks she now exalts, Taking old gifts and granting new. The wisdom of the present hour Makes up for follies past and gone, To weakness strength succeeds, and power From frailty springs, -press on! press on! Press on! what though upon the ground Thy love has been poured out like rain? That happiness is always found The sweetest, which is born of pain. Oft 'mid the forest's deepest glooms, A bird sings from some blighted tree, The poppy hath a charm for pain | And, in the dreariest desert, blooms A never-dying rose for thee. I look around on earth and sky, My ear drinks in from field and fell Oh no! no! no! Of happy thoughts from Thee. My faith is strong; out of itself No Talmud on the Rabbi's shelf Still let me turn on earth a childlike gaze, And trust the whispered charities that bring Tidings of human truth; with inward praise Small Greek I know, nor Hebrew Watch the weak motion of each com O pious quack! thy pills are good; Nor honey less what it doth brew, Oh no! no! no! mon thing. And find it glorious still let me raise On wintry wrecks, an altar to the HIDDEN JOYS. PLEASURES lie thickest where no pleasures seem: There's not a leaf that falls upon the ground But holds some joy, of silence or of sound, Some sprite begotten of a summer dream. Though councils decree and de- The very meanest things are made clare; Like a tree in the open air, The soul its foliage fair Spreads forth, O God, to Thee! LAMAN BLANCHARD. WISHES OF YOUTH. GAYLY and greenly let my seasons run: And should the war-winds of the world uproot But a high pathway into freer air, mock at these. leave the past, if past indeed there be. I would not know it. I would know but thee. THE TWO HIGHWAYMEN. Lift up with golden hopes and duties I LONG have had a quarrel set with fair. He showed how wisdom turns its hours to years, Feeding the heart on joys instead of fears, And worships God in smiles, and not in tears. His thoughts were as a pyramid uppiled, On whose far top an angel stood and smiled Yet in his heart was he a simple child. Time, Because he robbed me. Every day of life Was wrested from me after bitter strife, I never yet could see the sun go down But I was angry in my heart, nor hear The leaves fall in the wind without a tear Over the dying summer. I have known No truce with Time nor Time's accomplice, Death. |