210

SUMMER GLADNESS.

When eastern suns shall cease to scorch
And storms no more destroy;

And these lone valleys shall give forth
Their streams, and flowers, and joy.

SUMMER GLADNESS.

WHAT a world with all its sorrows!

What a scene, would it but stay;

What an earth, if all its morrows
Were as fair as this "to-day !"

When earth's summer pulse is beating
With the fever-fire of June,

And the flowers fling up their greeting,
Quivering to the joyous noon.

When the streamlet, smiling gladly,
Hurries calmly, brightly by,

Not a voice around speaks sadly,

Not a murmur nor a sigh.

SUMMER GLADNESS.

Sunbeams with their fond caresses,

Smooth each rosebud's velvet fold,
Lingering in the glowing tresses
Of yon rich laburnum's gold.

Nature all its gay adorning

Opens to the day's bright bliss, Like a child at early morning, Wakened by its mother's kiss.

What a world! when all its sorrow
Shall for ever pass away!

What an earth! when each " to-morrow"

Shall be fairer than "to-day."

211

THE FRIEND.

THERE is a star in yonder sky,
Above all stars it seems to shine,

'Tis long since first it fixed my eye,
And I have learned to call it mine.

It rose out of my own blue sea,

Then passed above those mountains green,

Moving all placidly,

Far

As if it loved to watch the scene.

up the heavens it floated slow,
Gleaming across yon solemn tower,
As if it loved the scene below;-
A willing lingerer hour by hour.

It seemed to take its place each night,
As sentinel to guard my rest,

An eye of love and gentle light,

Pouring sweet thoughts into my breast.

THE FRIEND.

In through my lattice as I lay

Half soothed to sleep, it nightly shone, And as I gazed upon its ray

I felt that I was not alone.

What tears that gentle star has dried,
What joy that sparkling orb has given;
Thoughts for this earth too high, too wide,
Dreams of its own all-radiant heaven.

It spoke of day beyond this night,
In the glad land where all is fair;

It pointed to the home of light,

And bid me rest my spirit there.

It spoke of Him whose love is light,
Whose death is life, whose cross is peace,

Whose favor is the star of night,

The source and pledge of endless bliss.

May I not love that star on high?

May not its light the fairest seem?

May I not trace a loving eye,

A kindly smile in every beam?

213

THE BLANK.

THE flowers of Spring have come and gone;
Bright were the blossoms, brief their stay;
They shone, and they were shone upon,
They flourished, faded, passed away.
So hidden from our sorrowing eyes,
Our young, sweet, spring-bloom buried lies;
One blast of earth swept o'er the flower,
It died, the blossom of an hour.

The Summer flowers are freshly blowing
Beneath glad July's genial morn;
Like smiles the face of earth bestrowing,
For fragrance and for beauty born;
My summer-flower has passed away,
'Tis now a blank, where all was gay;
A blank, where at each evening's close,
I hoped to watch my budding rose.