CHRIST'S AGONY IN THE GARDEN. He knelt the Saviour knelt and pray'd, Look'd through the lonely garden's shade, The Lord of all, above, beneath, Was bow'd with sorrow unto death. The sun set in a fearful hour, The skies might well grow dim, When this mortality had power So to o'ershadow Him! That He who gave man's breath might know, The very depths of human woe. He knew them all-the doubt, the strife, And the Deliverer knelt to pray Yet pass'd it not, that cup, away. It pass'd not-though the stormy wave But there was sent Him from on high And was His mortal hour beset How, but through Him, that path who trod? "And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him." St. Luke, xxii. 43. THE SUNBEAM. THOU art no lingerer in monarch's hall, A bearer of hope unto land and sea Sunbeam! what gift hath the world like thee? Thou art walking the billows, and Ocean smilesThou hast touch'd with glory his thousand isles— Thou hast lit up the ships, and the feathery foam, And gladden'd the sailor, like words from home. To the solemn depths of the forest-shades, Thou art streaming on through their green arcades, And the quivering leaves that have caught thy glow, Like fire-flies glance to the pools below. I look'd on the mountains-a vapor lay I look'd on the peasant's lowly cot- To the earth's wild places a guest thou art, Thou tak'st through the dim church-aisle thy way, And thou turnest not from the humblest grave, Where a flower to the sighing winds may wave; Thou scatterest its gloom like the dreams of rest, Thou sleepest in love on its grassy breast. Sunbeam of summer, oh! what is like thee? -One thing is like thee, to mortals given,— The faith, touching all things with hues of Heaven. THE TRAVELLER AT THE SOURCE OF THE NILE. IN sunset's light o'er Afric thrown, The cradle of that mighty birth, So long a hidden thing to earth. He heard its life's first murmuring sound, A low mysterious tone; A music sought, but never found By kings and warriors gone; He listen'd-and his heart beat high- The rapture of a conqueror's mood Rush'd burning through his frame, The depths of that green solitude Its torrents could not tame, Though stillness lay, with eve's last smile, |