Sing, merry voices, the marriage of royalty;
Honour the tune with a chorus of loyalty!
Ring, merry bells,
Full peals for the Wedding Day!
Let the glad dells
Re-echo them far away!
Ring, merry bells, for the marriage of royalty;
Honour the day with the full peals of loyalty!
YOU CANNOT UNLESS YOU TRY.
You cannot-unless you try-obtain
Whatever is worth the name of gain,
From ocean, or earth, or sky;
You cannot have pearls from ocean old;
From valley or mountain, gems and gold;
Or wealth for heaven of heavens to hold,—
You cannot-unless you try.
The vernal breath of the gentle South
May whisper as if by word of mouth
That blessing is gliding by;
Yet cannot you fix the blessing where
The fields will show it in sunshine fair,
And words of Autumn its worth declare,-
You cannot-unless you try.
As newly-fledged bird in lowly nest,
So long as it keepeth its place of rest,
Can never ascend on high-
So cannot you meet the morning clear-
Ascend the heavenly atmosphere,
Till seraphim song salute your ear,—
You cannot-unless you try.
The voice of Seraph may sweetly say, "O come to the joy of supernal day—
To pleasures that will not die;" But how can you up to the glory rise That can but be seen by immortal eyes? How leave the earth and ascend the skies?
You cannot-unless you try.
O HOW royal are the rays
Of the reapers' merry morn;
And how pleasant are the days
Of the sickle in the corn!
While the ripely golden grain
Gently waveth like the main,
And while Plenty on the plain,
Fills her horn.
O how horrible where war
Lasheth human blood to foam!
But where peace and plenty are,
It is happiness to roam,
When the reaping has begun,
When the golden prize is won,
When the words in music run-
Harvest Home!
Happy England!—where the rays
Of the reapers' merry morn
Light the song of joy and praise,
For the fruit and flowing corn;
For the ripely golden grain
Gently waving like the main,
And where plenty has again
Filled her horn.
APRIL.
APRIL! who may comprehend thee,
With thy smiles and tears?
Those like mirthful hopes attend thee,
These like mournful fears:
In the sighing of thy sadness,
Beauty's head is bow'd;
In the glory of thy gladness,
Pleasure laughs aloud.
Wondrous clouds with silver lining,
Glide thy sky along;
Shade and shining oft combining,
Blend with sigh and song.
Clouds, ye may not long remain now
See! for sun is given!
Hark! the bird above the rainbow,
Warbles, "Light in heaven!"
Who, a child of beauty seeing,
In its mother's arms,
Joy, the spirit of its being,
Lighting up its charms;
Tho' 'tis as no tear to wipe off;
On that face could be,
Can forget it is a type of,
Changeful April-thee?
Yet there 's glowing hope about thee,
Like a halo fair:
And, not vainly, joy has sought thee,
In the sunny air:
Tho' among thy sighs and sadness,
Beauty's head is bow'd;
Yet thou comest out in gladness,
After shower and cloud.
THE SPIRIT OF THE SPRING.
FAIR spirit of the Spring-all hail!
Unfolder of the flowers!
Revealing a triumphal tale!
To merry-hearted hours.
It cometh and the soul is stirr'd,—
Is with new gladness moved;
As when at hand the voice is heard,
Of one at heart beloved.
The calmly silent, silver cloud,
Seems a charm'd list'ning thing;
While the lark giveth out aloud,
High welcome to the Spring!
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