Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous,
God hath written in those stars above;
But not the less in the bright flowerets under us
Stands the revelation of His love.

Bright and glorious is that revelation, Written all over this great world of ours; Making evident our own creation,

In these stars of earth, these golden flowers.

And the poet, faithful and far-seeing,
Sees alike in stars and flowers a part
Of the self-same, universal being,

Which is throbbing in his brain and heart.

Gorgeous flowerets, in the sunlight shining, Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day, Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining, Buds that open only to decay.

Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues,
Flaunting gaily in the golden light;

Large desires, with most uncertain issues,
Tender wishes, blossoming at night!

These, in flowers and men, are more than

seeming;

Workings are they of the self-same powers, Which the poet, in no idle dreaming, Seeth in himself and in the flowers.

Everywhere about us are they glowing,
Some, like stars, to tell us spring is born;
Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing,
Stand, like Ruth, amid the golden corn;

Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing,

And in Summer's green, emblazoned field, But in arms of brave old Autumn's wearing, In the centre of his brazen shield:

Not alone in meadows and green alleys,
On the mountain-top, and by the brink
Of sequestered pools, in woodland valleys,
Where the slaves of nature stoop to drink:

Not alone, in her vast dome of glory,
Not on graves of bird and beast alone,
But in old cathedrals, high and hoary,

On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone:

In the cottage of the rudest peasant,

In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers Speaking of the past unto the present, Tell us of the ancient games of flowers;

In all places, then, and in all seasons,
Flowers expand their light and soul-like
wings,

Teaching us by most persuasive reasons,
How akin they are to human things.

And with childlike, credulous affection,
We behold their tender buds expand,
Emblems of our own great resurrection,
Emblems of the bright and better land.

LONGFELLOW.

CXVI.-" OH! LOOK NOT BACK."

OH, look not back! lest memories awaken
Mournful and deep as that low sigh!

Peace may return, when hope hath long forsaken;

Hearts may be calmed, and cruel sorrows die.

Oh, leave the past! lest thou in dreams re

turning,

Over thy path in that dim land

Find there the oft-quenched fires faintly burning

Streams painted bright on barren desert sand!

Oh, look not back! for how should soft forgetting

Creep on the soul, lamenting still?

What in lost hours was worth thy keen regretting?

False, blinding hopes? or love that time could chill?

Time teaches well, our worthless treasure stealing,

Loosening the chain of bygone years?

Hearts sorely grieved have felt its gentle healing,

Slowly, alas! it seals the fount of tears.

Romance of a Dull Life.

CXVII.

"COULDST THOU NOT WATCH ONE HOUR?"

THE night is dark; behold, the shade was deeper,

In the old garden of Gethsemane,

When the calm voice awoke the weary sleeper, "Couldst thou not watch one hour alone with me?"

Oh thou, so weary in thy self-denials!
And so impatient of thy little cross!
Is it so hard to bear thy daily trials?
To count all earthly things a gainful loss?

What if thou always suffer tribulation,

And if thy Christian warfare never cease?— The gaining of the quiet habitation Shall gather thee to everlasting peace.

But here we all must suffer-walking lonely The path which Jesus once Himself hath

gone,