Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music still!

To the last point of vision, and beyond,
Mount, daring warbler!-that love-prompted strain
-'Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond-
Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain:
Yet mightst thou seem, proud privilege! to sing
All independent of the leafy spring.

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood;
A privacy of glorious light is thine,

Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine :

Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam-
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, 1770-1850.

THE LILY.

How wither'd, perish'd seems the form
Of yon obscure unsightly root;
Yet from the blight of wintry storm
It hides secure the precious fruit.

The careless eye can find no grace,
No beauty in the scaly folds,
Nor see within the dark embrace

What latent loveliness it holds.

Yet in that bulb, those sapless scales,

The lily wraps her silver vest,

Till vernal suns and vernal gales

Shall kiss once more her fragrant breast.

Yes, hide beneath the mouldering heap
The undelighting slighted thing;
There in the cold earth buried deep,
In silence let it wait the spring.

Oh! many a stormy night shall close
In gloom upon the barren earth,
While still, in undisturb'd repose,
Uninjured lies the future birth.

And Ignorance, with sceptic eye,

Hope's patient smile shall wondering view: Or mock her fond credulity,

As her soft tears the spot bedew.

Sweet smile of hope, delicious tear!

The sun, the shower indeed shall come;
The promised verdant shoot appear,
And nature bid her blossoms bloom.

And thou, O virgin queen of spring!
Shalt, from thy dark and lowly bed,
Bursting thy green sheath's silken string,
Unveil thy charms, and perfume shed;

Unfold thy robes of purest white,
Unsullied from their darksome grave,
And thy soft petals' silvery light
In the mild breeze unfetter'd wave.

So Faith shall seek the lowly dust
Where humble Sorrow loves to lie,
And bid her thus her hopes intrust,
And watch with patient, cheerful eye;

And bear the long, cold wintry night,
And bear her own degraded doom;
And wait till Heaven's reviving light,
Eternal spring! shall burst the gloom.

MRS MARY TIGHE, 1773-1810.

HEAVENWARD!

THE dove let loose in eastern skies,

Returning fondly home,

Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idler warblers roam;

But high she shoots through air and light,
Above all low delay,

Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,
Nor shadow dims her way.

So grant me, Lord! from every stain
Of sinful passion free,
Aloft, through virtue's purer air,
To steer my course to Thee!

No sin to cloud, no lure to stay
My soul, as home she springs;
Thy sunshine on her joyful way,
Thy freedom on her wings.

THOMAS MOORE, 1779-1852.

I AM NEVER ALONE.

I AM never alone-at early dawn,

When the lark pours her joyous notes on highWhen the diamond dew-drop gems the lawn,

And the daisy opens her tearful eye;

I am never alone—with fragrant hair

The spirit of the first young Hour is there.

In one loud paan our songs arise:

"Thanks to our God for the earth and skies!—

For the early dawn, the glittering dews,

For the heaven of song, the glow of hues,

For the life, the light, the love we share—

Thanks! thanks for the thoughts of praise and prayer!"

R

I am never alone-at warın noon-day,

When the breeze is drunk by the scorching heat, When the lark has hush'd its thrilling lay,

And the flowers shut up their odours sweet;

I am never alone-beside me lies

The spirit of the wood with deep dark eyes.

My heart is still'd with flower and bird—
My soul is with that spirit heard;

Low, soft as summer's breath arise:

"Thanks to our God for the earth and skies!-
For the glowing noon, the cooling glade,
For the sweets of rest, the calm of shade;
For the life, the love, the peace we share-
Thanks! thanks for the thoughts of praise and prayer!"

I am never alone-at evening's close,

When the twittering birds bid earth good night-
When the insect hums round the laurel-rose,
And the bat flies low in the dim twilight;

I am never alone-on bended knee,
The spirit of the night-wind prays with me.
-Gleanings by Lady Jervis.