The Order of Providence.

They live, they die, like as He doth ordaine,
Ne ever any asketh reason why:

The hils doe not the lowly dales disdaine;
The dales doe not the lofty hils envy :
He maketh kings to sit in sovereinty;
He maketh subjects to their powre obey;

He pulleth downe, he setteth up on high;
He gives to this, from that He takes away;
For all we have is His: what He list doe, He may.

Whatever thing is done, by Him is done,
Ne any may his mighty will withstand;
Ne any may his sovereine power shun,

Ne loose that He hath bound with steadfast band.

In vaine therefore dost thou now take in hand

To call to count, or weigh His workes anew,

Whose counsel's depth thou canst not understand, Sith of things subject to thy daily view

Thou dost not know the causes nor their courses dew.

For take thy ballaunce, if thou be so wise,

And weigh the winde that under heaven doth blow; Or weigh the light that in the east doth rise,

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Or weigh the thought that from man's mind doth flow:

But if the weight of these thou canst not show, Weigh but one word which from thy lips doth fall:

For how can'st thou those greater secrets know, That dost not know the least thing of them all? Ill can he rule the great that cannot reach the small. SPENSER.

"PICCIOLA."

T was a sergeant old and gray,

Well singed and bronzed from siege and pillage,
Went tramping in an army's wake,
Along the turnpike to the village.

For days and nights the winding host

Had through the little place been marching,

And ever loud the rustics cheered

Till every throat was hoarse and parching.

They only saw a gallant show

Of heroes stalwart under banners,

And in the fierce heroic glow

'Twas theirs to yield but wild hosannas.

The sergeant heard the shrill hurrahs,

Where he behind in step was keeping;

But glancing down beside the road

He saw a little maid sit weeping.

Picciola.

"And how is this?" he gruffly said,

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A moment pausing to regard her:

Why weepest thou, my little chit?"
And then she only cried the harder.

"And how is this, my little chit,"

The sturdy trooper straight repeated, "When all the village cheers us on,

That you, in tears, apart are seated?

"We march two hundred thousand strong! And that's a sight, my baby beauty,

To quicken silence into song,

And glorify the soldier's duty."

"It's very, very grand, I know,"
The little maid gave soft replying;
"And father, mother, brother, too,
All say hurrah' while I am crying.

"But think-O, Mr. Soldier, think, How many little sisters' brothers Are going all away to fight,

Who may be killed, as well as others!"

"Why, bless thee, child," the sergeant said,
His brawny hand her curls caressing,
""Tis left for little ones like you

To find that war's not all a blessing."

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And still the ringing shouts went up

From doorway, thatch, and fields of tillage: The pall behind the standard seen

By one alone, of all the village.

The oak and cedar bend and writhe

When roars the wind through gap and braken;

But 'tis the tenderest reed of all

That trembles first when earth is shaken.

ROBERT NEWELL.

A HOLLY LEAF.

SOME high or humble enterprise of good
Contemplate till it shall possess thy mind,
Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food,
And kindle in thy heart a flame refined;
Pray heaven with firmness thy whole soul to bind
To this thy purpose-to begin, pursue
With thoughts all fixed, and feelings purely kind,
Strength to complete, and with delight review,
And grace to give the praise where all is ever due.

THE ADVENT.

ARK! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers, Prepare the way! A God, a God appears! A God! a God! the vocal hills reply, The rocks proclaim th' approaching Deity. Lo, earth receives him from the bending skies! Sink down, ye mountains, and, ye valleys, rise; With heads declined, ye cedars, homage pay; Be smooth, ye rocks; ye rapid floods, give way! The Saviour comes, by ancient bards foretold. Hear Him, ye deaf, and all ye blind, behold! He from thick films shall purge the visual ray, And on the sightless eyeball pour the day; 'Tis He the obstructed path of sound shall clear, And bid new music charm the unfolding ear; The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch forego, And leap exulting like the bounding roe. No sigh, no murmur the wide world shall hear; From every face He wipes off every tear.

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As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care,
Seeks freshest pasture, and the purest air,