Where are the dusky miners? - they To them 't is still a joy, I ween, To know, while through the darkness going, That o'er their heads the smiling queen Stands with her countless garlands glowing. O ye who toil in living tombs Of light, or dark, no rest receiving, Be patient; when earth's winter fails,— The weary night, which keeps ye staying,— Then through the broad celestial vales Your spirits shall go out a-Maying. T. B. Read CCXI SUNNY DAYS IN WINTER UMMER is a glorious season, Warm, and bright, and pleasant; But the past is not a reason To despise the present: So, while health can climb the mountain, There are sunny days in winter, after all! Spring, no doubt, hath faded from us, Summer, too, with all her promise, But the memory of the vanished Whom our hearts recall, Maketh sunny days in winter, after all! True, there's scarce a flower that bloometh,— All the best are dead; But the wall-flower still perfumeth Yonder garden bed; And the arbutus, pearl-blossomed, Hangs its coral ball : There are sunny days in winter, after all! Summer trees are pretty,—very, And I love them well; But this holly's glistening berry None of those excel. While the fir can warm the landscape, And the ivy clothes the wall, There are sunny days in winter, after all! Sunny hours in every season Wait the innocent; Those who taste with love and reason What their God has sent ; Those who neither soar too highly, Nor too lowly fall, Feel the sunny days of winter, after all ! Then, although our darling treasures Then, although our once-loved pleasures Though the tomb looms in the distance, And the mourning pall, There is sunshine, and no winter, after all! D. F. Macarthy CCXII DUTY S the hardy oat is growing, A Howsoe'er the wind may blow; As the untired stream is flowing, Thus, with beauty, or without it, Should the stream of being flow. D. F. Macarthy CCXIII LINES HE lights o'er yonder snowy range, Or, slowly passing, only change From splendor on to splendor. Before the dying eyes of day And morn spread still beyond her. Lo! heavenward now those gleams expire, The barrier-mountain, peak, and spire, Thus shine, O God! our mortal powers, A. De Vere CCXIV SPRING NCE more, through God's high will and grace, Heart-healing Spring resumes its place The valley through, and scales the hills. Who knows not Spring? who doubts when blows The swallow doubts not; nor the rose Once more the cuckoo's call I hear; Rise up like water from the ground. The thorn, I know, once more is white; The anemones in dubious light Are trembling like a bridal veil. By streams released that surging flow From craggy shelf, through sylvan glades, The pale narcissus, well I know, Smiles hour by hour on greener shades. The honeyed cowslip tufts once more The wood-path strews its milky way. |