O TIME! Who know'st a lenient hand OH! when 'tis summer weather, to lay The faint pang stealest, unperceived On thee I rest my only hope at last, the bitter tear And the yellow bee, with fairy To hear the murmuring dove, That flows in vain o'er all my soul And to wind through the greenwood held dear, I may look back on every sorrow past, together. And meet life's peaceful evening with But when 't is winter weather, And crosses grieve, The lattice beat,— Oh! then 't is sweet, To sit and sing the friends with whom, in the days of Spring, roamed through the greenwood together. ANNA C. BRACKETT. IN GARFIELD'S DANGER. Is it not possible that all the love From all these million hearts, which breathless turns Even in quiet fields, hard-handed men "What news?" and then, "We cannot spare him yet!" Bear on, brave heart! The land does not forget. MARY E. BRADLEY. BEYOND RECALL. THERE was a time when death and I| You thought me dead: you called Met face to face together: I was but young indeed to die, And it was summer weather; You knelt beside me, and I heard, A bitter cry that dimly stirred my name, And back from Death itself I came. |