The flowers of Spring may wither, -the hope of Summer fade,— The Autumn droop in Winter, the birds forsake the shade,— The wind be lull'd,-the sun and moon forget their old decree, But we in Nature's latest hour, O Lord! will cling to Thee. Bishop Heber CCVIII THE LONGEST DAY. Let us quit the leafy arbour, Evening now unbinds the fetters Yet by some grave thoughts attended Summer ebbs; each day that follows Where the frosts of winter lie. He who governs the creation, To the life of human kind. Yet we mark it not; fruits redden, Fresh flowers blow, as flowers have blown, And the heart is loth to deaden Hopes that she so long hath known. Be thou wiser, youthful maiden ! Now, e'en now, ere wrapp'd in slumber, That absorbs time, space, and number,- W. Wordsworth CCIX BUBBLES UNDER ICE Hast thou seen with flash incessant Such are thoughts—a wind-swept meadow Such is life; and death a shadow From the rock Eternity! W. Wordsworth CCX A-MAYING Yes, surely there's a love abroad Through every nerve of Nature playing; And all between the sky and sod, All, all the world has gone a-Maying. O, wherefore do I sit and give My fancy up to idle playing? Too well I know the half who live, Where are the dwellers of the lanes, Where they who tend the busy loom, And where the young of every size The factories draw from every bye-way; Whose violets are each other's eyes, But dull as by a dusty highway? Whose cotton lilies only grow 'Mid whirring wheels, or jarring spindles ? Their roses in the hectic glow To tell how fast the small life dwindles. Where are the dusky miners?—they Who, ever in the earth descending, Know well the night before their May Is one which has in life no ending? To them 'tis 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- Your spirits shall go out a-Maying. T. B. Read CCXI SUNNY DAYS IN WINTER Summer 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, Maiden-like in charms; Summer, too, with all her promise, Perish'd in our arms : But the memory of the vanish'd Whom our hearts recall, True, there's scarce a flower that bloomethAll the best are dead; But the wall-flower still perfumeth Yonder garden bed; And the arbutus, pearl-blossom'd, Hangs its coral ball : There are sunny days in winter, after all! Summer trees are pretty-very, But this holly's glistening berry While the fir can warm the landscape, And the ivy clothes the wall, 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! |