And over each earth-pillowed head

The hand of Nature strews them.
Sleep on!

Sleep on, sleep on: I would I were

At rest within your dwelling,

No more to feel, no more to bear
The world's falsehood and its care-

The arrows it doth never spare

On him whose feet are failing.
Sleep on!

THE PEOPLE'S AUTHEN.

LORD, from thy blessed throne,

Sorrow look down upon!

God save the poor!

Teach them true liberty

Make them from tyrants free

Let their homes happy be!

God save the poor!

The arms of wicked men

Do Thou with might restrain—

God save the poor!

Raise Thou their lowliness

Succor Thou their distress

Thou whom the meanest bless!
God save the poor!

Give them stanch honesty

Let their pride manly be-
God save the poor!

Help them to hold the right;

Give them both truth and might,

Lord of all life and light!

God save the poor!

THE LINKET.

THE Songs of nature, holiest, best are they!
The sad winds sighing through the leafy trees—
The lone lake's murmurs to the mountain breeze-
The stream's soft whispers, as they fondly stray

Through dingles wild and over flowery leas,
Are sweetly holy; but the purest hymn-

A melody like some old prophet-lay

Is thine, poured forth from hedge and thicket dim

Linnet wild Linnet!

The

poor,

the scorned and lowly, forth may go

Into the woods and dells, where leaves are green, And 'mong the breathing forest flowers may lean; And hear thy music wandering to and fro,

Like sunshine glancing o'er the summer scene.

Thou poor man's songster!-neither wealth nor power Can match the sweetness thou around dost throw! O bless thee for the joy of many an hourwild Linnet!

Linnet

In sombre forest, gray and melancholy,

Yet sweet withal, and full of love and peace,
And 'mid the furze wrapp'd in a golden fleece
Of blossoms, and in hedgerows green and lowly;
On thymy banks, where wild-bees never cease
Their murmur-song, thou hast thy home of love,
Like some lone hermit, far from sin and folly,
'Tis thine through forest fragrances to rove-
Linnet! wild Linnet !

Some humble heart is sore and sick with grief,
And straight thou comest with thy gentle song
To wile the sufferer from his hate or wrong,

By bringing Nature's love to his relief.

Thou charmest by the sick child's window long,
Till cracking pain itself be wooed to sleep;

And when away have vanished flower and leaf, Thy lonely wailing voice for them doth weepLinnet wild Linnet!

God saw how much of woe, and grief, and care,
Man's faults and follies on the earth would make;
And thee, sweet singer, for his creature's sake
He sent to warble wildly every where,

And by thy voice our souls of love to wake.
O blessed wandering spirit! unto thee
Pure hearts are knit, as unto things too fair,
And good and beautiful of earth to be-
Linnet wild Linnet

LIFE'S PILGRIMAGE.

INFANT! I envy thee

Thy seraph smile-thy soul, without a stain,
Angels around thee hover in thy glee
A look of love to gain!

Thy paradise is made

Upon thy mother's bosom, and her voice
Is music rich as that by spirits, shed
When blessed things, rejoice!

Bright are the opening flowers—

Ay, bright as thee, sweet babe, and innocent,

They bud and bloom; and straight their infant hours, Like thine, are done and spent!

Boy! infancy is o'er!

Go with thy playmates to the grassy lea,

Let thy bright eye with yon far laverock soar,
And blithe and happy be!