THE HOURS.

161

THE HOURS.

JONES VERY.

THE minutes have their trusts as they go by, To bear His love who wings their viewless flight;

To Him they bear their record as they fly,

And never from their ceaseless round alight. Rich with the life Thou liv'st they come to me : O may I all that life to others show,

That they from strife may rise and rest in Thee,

And all thy peace in Christ by me may know! Then shall the morning call me from my rest,

With joyful hope that I thy child may live ; And when the evening comes 'twill make me blest,

To know that Thou wilt peaceful slumbers

give,

Such as Thou dost to weary laborers send,

Whose sleep from Thee doth with the dews descend.

14 *

THE FAITHFUL MONK.

LINES SUGGESTED BY AN ALLUSION IN THE MEMOIR OF REV. O. W. B. PEABODY.

CHARLES T. BROOKS.

GOLDEN gleams of noonday fell
On the pavement of the cell,
And the monk still lingered there
In the ecstasy of prayer:
Fuller floods of glory streamed
Through the window, and it seemed
Like an answering glow of love,
From the countenance above.

On the silence of the cell

Break the faint tones of a bell.
"T is the hour when at the gate
Crowds of poor and hungry wait,
Wan and wistful, to be fed

With the friar of mercy's bread.

Hark! that chime of heaven's far bells!
On the monk's rapt ear it swells.
No! fond, flattering dream, away!
Mercy calls; no longer stay!
Whom thou yearnest here to find.
In the musings of thy mind,

66

NOT TO MYSELF ALONE."

163

God and Jesus, lo, they wait
Knocking at thy convent gate!

From his knees the monk arose ;
With full heart and hand he goes,
At his gate the poor relieves,
Gives a blessing, and receives;
To his cell returned, and there
Found the angel of his prayer,
Who with radiant features said,
"Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled."

"NOT TO MYSELF ALONE."

SARGENT'S SELECTION.

"Nor to myself alone,"

The little opening flower transported cries,
"Not to myself alone I bud and bloom ;
With fragrant breath the breezes I perfume,
And gladden all things with my rainbow dyes.
The bee comes sipping, every eventide,
His dainty fill;

The butterfly within my cup doth hide
From threatening ill."

"Not to myself alone,”

The circling star with honest pride doth boast, "Not to myself alone, I rise and set;

I write upon night's coronal of jet

His power and skill who formed our myriad host;
A friendly beacon at heaven's open gate,
I gem the sky,

That man might ne'er forget, in every fate,
His home on high."

"Not to myself alone,”

The heavy-laden bee doth murmuring hum, —
"Not to myself alone, from flower to flower,
I rove the wood, the garden, and the bower,
And to the hive at evening weary come :
For man, for man, the luscious food I pile,
With busy care,

Content if I repay my ceaseless toil
With scanty share.”

"Not to myself alone,”

The soaring bird with lusty pinion sings,"Not to myself alone I raise my song;

I cheer the drooping with my warbling tongue,
And bear the mourner on my viewless wings;
I bid the hymnless churl my anthem learn,
And God adore;

I call the worldling from his dross to turn,
And sing and soar."

66 NOT TO MYSELF ALONE."

"Not to myself alone,"

The streamlet whispers on its pebbly way,"Not to myself alone I sparkling glide;

165

I scatter health and life on every side,
And strew the fields with herb and floweret gay.
I sing unto the common, bleak and bare,
My gladsome tune;

I sweeten and refresh the languid air
In droughty June."

"Not to myself alone";

O man! forget not thou-earth's honored priest,
Its tongue, its soul, its life, its pulse, its heart-
In earth's great chorus to sustain thy part!
Chiefest of guests at love's ungrudging feast,
Play not the niggard; spurn thy native clod,
And self disown;

Live to thy neighbor; live unto thy God;
Not to thyself alone!