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Come to God's own temple, come;
Raise the song of Harvest-home!

What is earth but God's own field,
Fruit unto his praise to yield ?
Wheat and tares therein are sown,
Unto joy or sorrow grown;
Ripening with a wondrous power,
Till the final Harvest-hour:
Grant, O Lord of life, that we
Holy grain and pure may be.

Come, then, Lord of Mercy, come,
Bid us sing the Harvest-home!
Let thy saints be gathered in!
Free from sorrow, free from sin ;
All upon the golden floor
Praising thee forevermore;
Come, with thousand angels, come;
Bid us sing thy Harvest-home.

EPIPHANY.

BISHOP HEBER.

BRIGHTEST and best of the sons of the morning !

Dawn on our darkness, and lend us Thine aid, Star of the East, the horizon adorning,

Guide where our Infant Redeemer is laid !

Cold on His cradle the dewdrops are shining,

Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall : Angels adore Him in slumber reclining –

Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all!

Say, shall we yield him, in costly devotion,

Odors of Edom, and offerings divine — Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the ocean,

Myrrh from the forest, and gold from the mine?

Vainly we offer each ample oblation,

Vainly with gifts would His favor secure, Richer by far is the heart's adoration,

Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning!

Dawn on our darkness, and lend us Thine aid, Star of the East, the horizon adorning,

Guide where our Infant Redeemer is laid !

THANKSGIVING DAY.

Lydia MARIA CHILD.

OVER the river and through the wood,
To grandfather's house we go;

The horse knows the way

To carry the sleigh
Through the white and drifted snow.

Over the river and through the wood —
Oh, how the wind does blow !

It stings the toes

And bites the nose,
As over the ground we go.

Over the river and through the wood,
To have a first-rate play.

Hear the bells ring,

“ Ting-a-ling-ding !? Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day!

Over the river and through the wood
Trot fast, my dapple-gray!

Spring over the ground,

Like a hunting-hound !
For this is Thanksgiving Day.

Over the river and through the wood,
And straight through the barn-yard gate.

We seem to go

Extremely slow,-
It is so hard to wait!

Over the river and through the wood —
Now grandmother's cap I spy!

Hurrah for the fun!

Is the pudding done? Hurrah for the pumpkin-pie!

APRIL FOOLS.

WILLIAM PRAED.

.This day, beyond all contradiction,
This day is all thine own, Queen Fiction !
And thou art building castles boundless
Of groundless joys, and griefs as groundless ;
Assuring beauties that the border
Of their new dress is out of order;
And schoolboys that their shoes want tying;
And babies that their dolls are dying.

Lend me, lend me some disguise;
I will tell prodigious lies ;
All who care for what I say
Shall be April fools to-day.

THE MAY QUEEN.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

You must wake and call me early, call me early,

mother dear; To-morrow'll be the happiest time of all the glad New

year; Of all the glad New year, mother, the maddest merriest

day;

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be

Queen o' the May. There's many a black, black eye, they say, but none so

bright as mine;

There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Caroline; But none so fair as little Alice, in all the land, they say, So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be

Queen o' the May.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never

wake, If you do not call me loud when the day begins to

break; But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and

garlands gay, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be

Queen o' the May.

As I came up the valley whom think ye should I see,
But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree?
He thought of that sharp look, mother, I

gave
him

yesterday But I'm to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I'm to be

Queen o' the May.

He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in

white And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of

light. They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they

say, For I'm to be Queen o’the May, mother, I'm to be

Queen o' the May.

They say he's dying all for love, but that can never be:

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