"Shall not the sea in the sun be glad
When a child doth come to play?
Had it been in storm-time, what could I,
The sea, but bear her away,

Bear her away on my foaming crest,
Toss her, and hurry her to her rest.

"Be it life or death, God ruleth me;
And he loveth every soul:

I've an earthly shore and a heavenly shore,
And toward them both I roll;

Shining and beautiful both are they,

And a little child will go God's way."

MARY MAPes Dodge.

REVERY.

HE white reflection of the sloop's great sail

THE

Sleeps trembling on the tide :

In scarlet' trim her crew lean o'er the rail,
Lounging on either side.

Pale blue, and streaked with pearl, the waters lie,

And glitter in the heat:

The distance gathers purple bloom where sky

And glimmering coast-line meet.

From the cove's curving rim of sandy gray

The ebbing tide has drained,

Where, mournful, in the dusk of yesterday,
The curlew's voice complained.

Half lost in hot mirage, the sails afar
Lie dreaming, still and white;

No wave breaks, no wind breathes, the peace to mar: Summer is at its height.

How many thousand summers thus have shone

Across the ocean waste,

Passing in swift succession, one by one,

By the fierce winter chased!

The gray rocks, blushing soft at dawn and eve,
The green leaves at their feet,

The dreaming sails, the crying birds that grieve,
Ever themselves repeat.

And yet how dear, and how forever fair,

Is Nature's friendly face!

And how forever new and sweet and rare

Each old familiar grace!

What matters it that she will sing and smile
When we are dead and still?

Let us be happy in her beauty while
Our hearts have power to thrill.

Let us rejoice in every moment bright,
Grateful that it is ours;

Bask in her smiles with ever fresh delight,
And gather all her flowers;

For presently we part: what will avail

Her rosy fires of dawn,

Her noontide pomps, to us who fade and fail,

Our hands from hers withdrawn?

CELIA THAXTER,

FOR

HEAVING THE LEAD.

OR England, when with favoring gale Our gallant ship up channel steered, And, scudding under easy sail,

The high, blue western land appeared, To heave the lead the seaman sprung, And to the pilot cheerly sung,

"By the deep, nine!"

But, bearing up to gain the port,

Some well-known object kept in view, An abbey, tower, an harbor, fort, Or beacon to the vessel true; While oft the lead the seaman flung, And to the pilot cheerly sung,

"By the mark, seven !

And, as the much-loved shore we near,
With transport we behold the roof
Where dwells a friend or partner dear,

Of faith and love a matchless proof.
Once more the lead the seaman flung,
And to the watchful pilot sung,

"Quarter less five!"

Now to her berth the ship draws nigh; We take in sail she feels the tide : "Stand clear the cable!" is the cry;

The anchor's gone! we safely ride. The watch is set, and through the night. We hear the seaman with delight

Proclaim, "All's well!"

WILLIAM PEARCE.