I love it where the children lie,
Deep in the clovery grass,
To watch among the twining roots
The gold green beetle pass.
I love it on the breezy sea,
To glance on sail and oar,
While the great waves, like molten glass
Come leaping to the shore.
I love it on the mountain tops,
Where lies the thawless snow;
And half a kingdom bathed in light
Lies stretching out below.
yes, I love the sunshine!
Like kindness, or like mirth,
Upon a human countenance,
Is sunshine on the earth.
Upon the earth, upon the sea-
And through the crystal air-
Or piled up clouds-the gracious sun
Is glorious everywhere.
A ship was streaming the ocean tide,
And oh! how gallantly did she ride;
A storm came on-it was sad to see
How she roll'd a wreck on the fathomless sea.
Her mariners left her, one by one,
In the season of peril, almost alone;
But a few there were who endured the blast,
And succour'd her in her distress to the last.
She righted again, and she braved the tide,
And oh! how gallantly did she ride!
It was strange to see when she stemm'd the main
How her mariners all came back again!
While ocean winds her canvass swell,
That ship of the terrible storm shall tell,
And her log book the names of the crew shall bear
Who abandon'd her not in the hour of despair.
Sweet patience, come!
With long distress my spirit faints,
And my heart breaks with its complaints,
And eager pain to find relief
Solicits even change of grief.
And unbelief disturbs my trust,
And shakes my hopes, as with a gust;
Spring blossoms flutter from the stalk,
And withering lie upon the walk,—
Sweet patience come.
Sweet patience, come!
Not from a low and earthly source,
Waiting till things shall have their course;
Not as accepting present pain;
In hope of some hereafter gain;
Not in a dull and sullen calm—
But as a breath of heavenly balm,
Bidding my weary heart submit
To bear whatever God sees fit
Sweet patience, come!
Sweet patience, come !
Tell me my Father hath not shed
One grief too many on my head;
Tell me his love remembers still
His chidren suffering at his will;
How excellent a thought to me
His loving kindness then shall be.
Then in the shadow of his wings
I'll hide me from all troublous things,
Sweet patience, come!
"Courage! my boy! pull cheerily, cheerily,
See, we are nearing the shore!"
For the blue eyes were closing wearily,
And the small hands flagged at the oar.
"Mother is waiting to welcome us home,
She has piled the fire up bright;
When our boat has rounded the headland rocks
We shall see its dancing light."
They had left the village at early morn,
And had toiled the live-long day;
Now, cold and tired they were hastening home,
All drenched with the falling spray.
But the mist is creeping o'er land and sea,
And darkness is gathering fast,
And the voice of the storm in the fisherman's ear
Is heard in the muttering blast.
He takes the oar from the weary hand,
And wraps up the trembling child,
Who, looking up in that sun-burnt face,
Said softly as he smiled.
"Father, I do not fear the storm;
It cannot do us ill;
I have read of Jesus, who bids the wind
And the raging waves "be still."
And he in his everlasting arms,
His lambs will safely keep;
And I am his, I know he will—”
And the boy soon fell asleep.
How slowly passed the long, long hours
In the cottage by the shore,
Where the mother listened, with pallid cheek,
To the voice of the tempest's roar.
And when the morn rose quiet and grey,
By a vessel outward bound
A man, half dead with cold and rain,
In a drifting boat was found;
And close in his bosom lay his boy
With his arms clasped round him tight,
While the hand of death on the peaceful face
Told the tale of that fearful night.
But light shines through the darkest cloud,
And love guides all God's ways,
And the seed sown by that childish hand
Was found ere many days.
Down in my solitude under the snow,
Where nothing cheering can reach me;
Here without light to see how to grow,
I'll trust to nature to teach me.
I will not despair, nor be idle, nor frown,
Locked in so gloomy a dwelling;
My leaves shall run up, and my roots shall run down,
While the bud in my bosom is swelling.
Soon as the frost will get out of my bed,
From this cold dungeon to free me,
I will peer up with my little bright head,
All will be joyful to see me.
Then from my heart will young petals diverge
As rays of the sun from their focus ;
I from the darkness of earth will emerge,
A happy and beautiful crocus.
Many, perhaps, from so simple a flower
This little lesson may borrow,
Patient to-day, through its gloomiest hour,
We come out the brighter to-morrow.
COME AGAIN, SWEET BIRDS OF
Come again sweet birds of summer
Cheer us with your matin song;
Sing on tree top, hill, and valley-
Sing your anthem loud and long.
Bear us on your wings of beauty
Rays of joy to glad our hearts;
Warbling, with your myriad voices
Of the light that ne'er departs.
See the leaves of summer lying
Coldly mould'ring on the ground; Hear the winds of autumn sighing
O'er the wrecks thus strewn around; Murm'ring low refrains of sadness
For the scenes that once were fairMourning for those songs of gladness That so lately filled the air.
Bring us back the tiny snowdrop;
Fairest emblem of the spring;
Bring us back the bright eyed daisy,
Of which poets love to sing.
Bring us back the balmy fragrance
That the summer sunbeams give;
Bring us back that verdant freshness
That in summer used to live.
Come again sweet birds of summer,
Chase the wintry clouds away,
In your chaunting give us promise
Öf the eternal summer day.
Come, oh come, sweet birds of summer-
Come to woodland, field and glen;
Fill our hearts with joy and pleasure,
Birds, sweet birds-oh come again.
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