And in silent chambers of the dead,

Where the mourner goes with soundless tread;

For as the day-beams freely fall,

Pure thoughts of heaven are sent to all.

THE USE OF FLOWERS.

GOD might have made the earth bring forth
Enough for great and small,
The oak tree and the cedar tree,
Without a flower at all.

He might have made enough, enough
For every want of ours;

For luxury, medicine, and toil,

And yet have made no flowers.

The clouds might give abundant rain,
The nightly dews might fall,
And the herb that keepeth the life in man

Might yet have drunk them all.

Then wherefore, wherefore were they made,
And dyed with rainbow light,
All fashioned with supremest grace,
Upspringing day and night?

Springing in valleys green and low,
And on the mountains high;
And in the silent wilderness,
Where no man passes by?

Our outward life requires them not,
Then, wherefore had they birth?

To minister delight to man;
To beautify the earth;

To comfort man-to whisper hope,
Whene'er his faith is dim;
For whoso careth for the flowers,
Will much more care for Him!

FROM "THE SEVEN TEMPTATIONS."

THE POOR SCHOLAR.

Schol. Most precious words! Now go your way,
The summer fields are green and bright.
Your tasks are done;-why do you stay?
Christ give his peace to you! Good night!
Boy. You look so pale, sir! You are worse.
Let me remain and be your nurse!

Sir, when my mother has been ill,

I've kept her chamber neat and still,

And waited on her all the day!

Schol. Thank you; but yet you must not stay. Still, still, my boy, before we part Receive my blessing-'t is my last! I feel death's hand is on my heart, And my life's sun is sinking fast: Yet mark me, child, I have no fear,

'Tis thus the Christian meets his end:

I know my work is finished here,

And God-thy God too-is my friend! Thy joyful course has just begun;

Life is in thee a fountain strong;

Yet, look upon a dying man,

Receive his words and keep them long!

Fear God, all wise, omnipotent,

In him we live and have our being;
He hath all love, all blessing sent-
Creator-Father-All-decreeing!

Fear him, and love, and praise, and trust;
Yet have of man no slavish fear;
Remember kings, like thee, are dust,
And at one judgment must appear.
But virtue, and its holy fruits,

The poet's soul—the sage's sense,
These are exalted attributes,

And these deserve thy reverence.
But, boy, remember this, e'en then,
Revere the gifts, but not the men!
Obey thy parents-they are given

To guide our inexperienced youth;
Types are they of the One in heaven,
Chastising but in love and truth.
Keep thyself pure. Sin doth deface
The beauty of our spiritual life.
Do good to all men-live in peace
And charity, abhorring strife.

The mental power which God has given,
As I have taught thee, cultivate;
Thou canst not be too wise for heaven,
If thou dost humbly consecrate

Thy soul to God. And ever take
In his good book delight; there lies
The highest knowledge, which will make
Thy soul unto salvation wise.

My little boy, thou canst not know

How strives my spirit fervently, How my heart's fountains overflow With yearning tenderness for thee!

God keep, and strengthen thee from sin-
God crown thy life with peace and joy,
And give at last to enter in

The city of his rest, my boy.

PRAYER OF THE SCHOLAR.

Schol. Almighty God! look down
Upon thy feeble servant! strengthen him!
Give him the victor's crown-
And let not faith be dim!

Oh! how unworthy of thy grace,

How poor, how needy, stained with sin!
How can I enter in

Thy kingdom, and behold thy face!

Except thou hadst redeemed me, I had gone Without sustaining knowledge, to the grave! For this I bless thee, oh thou gracious One! And thou wilt surely save.

I bless thee for the life which thou hast crowned With never-ending good;

For pleasures that were found,

Like way-side flowers, in quiet solitude.—
I bless thee for the love that watched o'er me

Through the weak years of infancy,
That has been, like thine everlasting truth,
The guide, the guardian angel of my youth.
Oh, thou! that didst the mother's heart bestow,
Sustain it in its wo-

For mourning give it joy, and praise for heaviness.

THE PRODIGAL.

Thomas. Ah, I remember well

There is a little hollow hereabout,

Where wild-brier roses and lithe honeysuckle

Made a thick bower; 't was here I used to come
To read sweet books of witching poetry!
Could it be I? No, no, I am so changed

I will not think this man was once that boy;
The thought would drive me mad. I will but think
I once knew one who called this vale his own;
I will but think I knew a merry boy,
-And a kind, gentle father, years agone,

Who had their dwelling here; and that the boy
Did love this lonely nook, and used to find
Here the first nests of summer; here did read
All witching books of glorious poetry;
And thus, that as the boy became a youth,
And gentle feeling strengthened into passion,
And love became the poetry of life,—

Hither he wandered with a girlish beauty,

Gathering, like Proserpine, sweet meadow flowers;
And that they set beneath the wild brier rose,
And that he thus did kiss that maiden's cheek,
The first time as a lover! Oh my God!
That was the heir of Jones. A brave boy,
A noble-hearted boy! He grew a man,

And what became of him? Ha! pass we that—
Would that I knew not what became of him!

SONG OF EDAH.

Little waves upon the deep

Murmur soft when thou dost sleep;

Gentle birds upon the tree

Sing their sweetest songs for thee;
Cooling gales, with voices low,
In the tree tops gently blow!
Dearest, who dost sleeping lie,
All things love thee,-so do I!

When thou wak'st, the sea will pour
Treasures for thee to the shore;