For if the skylark's pipe were shrill, and strong,
And its rich tones the thrilling ear might please,
Yet pussy well could breathe a fireside song
As winning, when she lay on Lucy's knees.

Both knew her voice, and each alike would seek Her eye, her smile, her fondling touch to gain ; How faintly then may words her sorrow speak, When by the one she sees the other slain.

Come, Lucy, let me dry those tearful eyes;
Take thou, dear child, a lesson not unholy,
From one whom nature taught to moralize
Both in his mirth, and in his melancholy.

I will not warn thee not to set thine heart
Too fondly upon perishable things;
In vain the earnest preacher spends his art
Upon that theme: in vain the poet sings.

It is our nature's strong necessity,

And this the soul's unerring instincts tell : Therefore I say, let us love worthily,

Dear child, and then we cannot love too well.

Better it is all losses to deplore

Which dutiful affection can sustain,

Than that the heart should, in its inmost core,
Harden without it, and have lived in vain.

This love which thou hast lavish'd, and the woe
Which makes thy lip now quiver with distress,
Are but a vent, an innocent o'erflow,

From the deep springs of female tenderness.

And something I would teach thee from the grief That thus has fill'd those gentle eyes with tears, The which may be thy sober, sure relief,

When sorrow visits thee in after years.

I ask not whither is the spirit flown

That lit the eye which there in death is seal'd; Our Father hath not made that mystery known; Needless the knowledge, therefore not reveal'd.

But didst thou know in sure and sacred truth,
It had a place assign'd in yonder skies,
There, through an endless life of joyous youth,
To warble in the bowers of Paradise;

Lucy, if then the power to thee were given
In that cold form its life to re-engage,
Wouldst thou call back the warbler from its Heaven,
To be again the tenant of a cage?

Only that thou might'st cherish it again,

Wouldst thou the object of thy love recall To mortal life, and chance, and change, and pain, And death; which must be suffer'd once by all?

O, no, thou say'st: O, surely not, not so,

I read the answer which those looks express: For pure and and true affection, well I know, Leaves in the heart no room for selfishness.

Such love of all our virtues is the gem;

We bring with us th' immortal seed at birth : Of Heaven it is, and heavenly; woe to them Who make it wholly earthly, and of earth!

What we love perfectly, for its own sake
We love and not our own, being ready thus
Whate'er self-sacrifice is ask'd, to make;

That which is best for it, is best for us.

O Lucy, treasure up that pious thought!

It hath a balm for sorrow's deadliest darts; And with true comfort thou wilt find it fraught, If grief should reach thee in thy heart of hearts. R. Southey

CCXXIX

LESSON FROM NATURE

When my breast labours with oppressive care,
And o'er my cheek descends the falling tear,
While all my warring passions are at strife,
O! let me listen to the words of life.

Raptures deep felt His doctrine did impart,
And thus He raised from earth the drooping heart.
Think not when all your scanty stores afford
Is spread at once upon the sparing board;
Think not, when worn the homely robe appears,
While on the roof the howling tempest bears,
What farther shall this feeble life sustain,
And what shall clothe these shivering limbs again?
Say, does not life its nourishment exceed?

And the fair body its investing weed?

Behold! and look away your low despairSee the light tenants of the barren air; To them nor stores, nor granaries belong, Nought but the woodland, and the pleasing song; Yet your kind Heavenly Father bends His eye On the least wing that flits along the sky.

To Him they sing, when Spring renews the plain,
To Him they cry in Winter's pinching reign,
Nor is their music nor their plaint in vain :
He hears the gay, and the distressful call,
And with unsparing bounty fills them all.

Observe the rising lily's snowy grace,
Observe the various vegetable race;

They neither toil, nor spin, but careless grow,
Yet see how warm they blush! how bright they glow!
What regal vestments can with them compare!
What king so shining! or what queen so fair!
If, ceaseless, thus the fowls of heaven he feeds,
If o'er the fields such lurid robes He spreads,
Will He not care for you, ye faithless! say,
Is He unwise? or are ye less than they?

J. Thomson

CCXXX

THE CHILD TAUGHT FROM NATURE

O rich the tint of earthly gold,

And keen the diamond's spark,
But the young lamb of Jesu's fold
Should other splendours mark.
To soothe him in th' unquiet night,
I ask no taper's gleam,

But bring him where th' aerial light
Falls from the moon's soft beam.

His heart at early morn to store
With fancies fresh and rare,
Count not thy jewels o'er and o'er,
Show him no mirror's glare.

But lift him where the eastern heaven
Glows with the sun unseen,

Where the strong wings to morning given
Brood o'er a world serene.

Yet, might I choose a time, me seems
That earliest wistful gaze

Were best to meet the softening beams
Of sunset's glowing maze.

Wide be the western casement thrown
At sultry evening's fall,

The gorgeous lines be duly shown

That weave Heaven's wondrous pall.

Calm be his sleep, whose eyelids close
Upon so fair a sight:

Not gentler mother's music flows

Her sweetest, best good night.

J. Keble

CCXXXI

GOD'S PRESENCE IN NATURE

Almighty Father! . . .

The rolling year

Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring
Thy beauty walks, Thy tenderness, and love.
Wide flush the fields; the softening air is bȧlm;
Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles;

And every sense, and every heart is joy.
Then comes thy glory in the summer months,
With light and heat refulgent. Then Thy sun