THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS.

Dear tokens of the earth are they,

Where He was once a child.

"They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,

And saints, upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear."

And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love;
She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.

O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,

The Reaper came that day;

"T was an angel visited the green earth, And took the flowers away.

11

THE LIGHT OF STARS.

THE night is come, but not too soon ;
And sinking silently,

All silently, the little moon

Drops down behind the sky.

There is no light in earth or heaven,
But the cold light of stars;

And the first watch of night is given
To the red planet Mars.

Is it the tender star of love?

The star of love and dreams?

O no! from that blue tent above,
A hero's armour gleams.

And earnest thoughts within me rise, When I behold afar,

Suspended in the evening skies,

The shield of that red star.

O star of strength! I see thee stand
And smile upon my pain;

Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand.

And I am strong again.

THE LIGHT OF STARS.

Within my breast there is no light,

But the cold light of stars;

I give the first watch of the night
To the red planet Mars.

The star of the unconquered will,
He rises in my breast,

Serene, and resolute, and still,

And calm, and self-possessed.

And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art,
That readest this brief psalm,

As one by one thy hopes depart,
Be resolute and calm.

O fear not in a world like this,

And thou shalt know ere long, Know how sublime a thing it is

To suffer and be strong.

13

FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.

WHEN the hours of Day are numbered,
And the voices of the Night

Wake the better soul, that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight;

Ere the evening lamps are lighted,

And, like phantoms grim and tall,

Shadows from the fitful fire-light

Dance upon the parlour wall;

Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door;

The beloved, the true-hearted,

Come to visit me once more;

He, the young and strong, who cherished
Noble longings for the strife,

By the road-side fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life!

They, the holy ones and weakly,

Who the cross of suffering bore,

Folded their pale hands so meekly,

Spake with us on earth no more!