A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE.

I saw the branches of the trees

Bend down thy touch to meet, The clover-blossoms in the grass Rise up to kiss thy feet.

"Sleep, sleep, to-day, tormenting cares,
Of earth and folly born!"
Solemnly sang the village choir

On that sweet Sabbath morn.

Through the close blinds, the golden sun

Poured in a dusty beam,

Like the celestial ladder

Of the ancient patriarch's dream.

And ever and anon, the wind,

Sweet scented with the hay,

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Turned o'er the hymn-book's fluttering leaves, That on the window lay.

Long was the good man's sermon,
But it seemed not so to me,
For he spake of Ruth, the beautiful,
And still I thought of thee.

Long was the prayer he uttered,
But it seemed not so to me,

For in my heart I prayed with him,
But still I thought of thee.

But now, alas, the place seems changed;

Thou art no longer here;

Part of the sunshine of the scene

With thee did disappear.

Though thoughts, deep rooted in my heart,

Like pine trees dark and high, Subdue the light of noon, and breathe A low and ceaseless sigh;

This memory brightens o'er the past,
As when the sun, concealed
Behind some cloud that near us hangs,
Shines on a distant field.

LONGFELLOW.

THE POET'S GIFT.

On! guard the Poet's gift-an eye
Of purified and searching light—
A heart of sacred mystery,

And inward springs of deep delight.

Oh! guard the Poet's gift- a lyre

That thrills with strange and wandering chords,

Yet can a richer bliss inspire

Than ever yet was breathed in words.

THE POET'S GIFT.

Oh! guard the Poet's gift-a shrine of unseen worship-music high, Yet clear, exalted, and divine

An altar kept for Deity.

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The world's cold winds must not come there-
Where flowers of Paradise unfold;

No cheerless doubts, no wildering care,
No mammon worship dark and old.

For there doth Wisdom keep his hoard,
And fancy revel clear and bright;
With every noble feeling stored,
That inward world is all of light.

For nature's hymn is singing there,
For ever solemn, ever sweet;
And, far away, the clouds of care
Refuse those joyous strains to meet.

Then guard the Poet's sacred gift,

Through every change-in every scene-
O'er life's dull cares thy heart to lift
To faith sublime, to hope serene?

And strike in holy trust thy lyre-
For day by day, and year by year,
The notes shall thrill with purer fire,
"And sweeter music charm thine ear.'

F. HORNBLOWER.

SONNET.

WITH sails expanding to the gales of hope,
My venturous bark pursued her leading star;
Hers was a voyage of no cominon scope,
A voyage of discovery, distant far!

To bright Invention's intellectual clime,
In search of useful arts, 'twas mine to roam.
I reached the object of my views sublime,
And, richly freighted, bore my cargo home:
My friends expectant fill the crowded strand.
But ere I gain the shore what storms arise,
My vessel founders e'en in sight of land,
And now a wreck upon the beach she lies!
With firm unshaken mind that wreck I see,
"Nor think the doom of man should be reversed
for me."

E. CARTWRIGHT.

MOTHER'S LOVE.

A POPULAR LEGEND.

FAINT and listless in its cradle
Lies the babe, nor sleeps a wink,
Will not bear to eat a morsel,

Will not ope its lips to drink.

Ah! its mother is departed

And the lips it loved are still, Lips that sang it into slumber, Numb the breast it seeks and chill.

Yesterday the gloomy bearers

Carried forth her bier from home; Now the unthinking weeper's finger Beckons one who may not come.

And the hour of dusk is coming,
Yet no more the babe can sleep;
By the door, with soundless gliding,
Lo! a woman's form doth sweep.

Waving white, a gauzy mantle

Falls the silent one to hide;

Sure she once hath known the chamber, Now she's by the cradle's side.